


Wake Me Up

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint handles it well, Fix-It, Get Together, Light Bondage, M/M, Phil makes a plan, non-canon compliant, pretty much just pwp, rewriting age of ultron, who cares about the canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil envies Clint's ability to leave work at the office and enjoy his private life.  So he puts aside his growing feelings and take the friendship Clint offers ... that is until he accidentally hears something that changes his view of the archer. Then Phil makes a plan to get what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> This was a scene I wanted to write and, as usually it morphed into a fix-it story. Pretty much just porn without plot.

Thing about Clint Barton, he was the best sniper Phil had ever run across. Methodical, prepared, controlled -- he could think outside of the box, turn on a dime, and drag a victory out of a clusterfuck of a mission. First time they worked together, Phil was impressed enough to write a recommendation that Clint be allowed to use his bow in certain situations. Clint was the kind of agent Phil never had to worry about; if Clint went off the reservation, there was a damn good reason for it. 

 

But off duty, Clint could turn it off like a switch; he’d come back from a mission, take a long shower, change into civvies and head out for the night. Dance clubs, bars of all kinds, gambling parlors -- Clint cut a wide swath through the city nightlife, enjoying himself and taking others along with him.  How he did it, Phil couldn’t figure; as tightly wound as Clint was in the field, he was just as wild in his private life, and he had no problem sharing the details.  Within a year of working together, Phil knew that Clint was as scrupulous about using protection during sex as he was open to just about any kink; he’d try it once, he always said, and decide if he liked it enough for a second time. Men, women … Clint may have a habit of one-night stands but he was selective and his partners were always more than willing. From what Phil knew, Clint told them upfront it was a one time thing. 

 

From the beginning, Phil respected Clint’s skills and he envied Clint’s freespirit. Exactly when that changed, Phil couldn’t exactly pinpoint; some  time after they started marathoning shows they missed, competing to find the best burger in town, and sleeping on each other’s couches, Phil realized he was attracted to his friend. Not being spontaneous -- Phil took over a year to pick his condo -- he worried about complicating their working relationship with a one night fling. So he played bystander, shoulder to lean on, sounding board, and sometimes psychiatrist. One thing he was good at was pushing aside what he wanted and living with it. At least until he accidentally discovered just why Clint made the choices he did.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

“You sure you locked …”

 

Legs backed into the metal trash can, pushing it against the wall with a loud rattle. 

 

“Fuck. Right there. Yeah. Locked.” Clint’s voice was breathy and broken. “Do it to me.” 

 

Phil let his head drop against the brick wall as he balanced with his feet on the toilet, seated on the tank. All he’d wanted to do was grab a bit of paper to blow his nose and now he was getting a free show through the crack in the door and a mirror. The whole night had been a series of strange events; from Jasper picking the bar where Clint was trolling for a date to getting trapped in the bathroom stall, Phil was not having a good run of luck. 

 

“You want me to … Can I?” 

Belts unbuckled and zippers unzipped then a rustle of plastic packaging and Phil caught glimpses of bare skin, hands gripping the white porcelain sink. 

 

“Please, sir.” Clint’s head was bowed, beads of sweat forming on his bared neck. “Like we talked about.” 

 

A hand pushed Clint’s face into the mirror, turning his eyes away from Phil’s view; the other man pulled Clint’s arms behind his back and wrapped a tie around the wrists. Pants shoved down around his ankles, Clint moaned as the man took a moment to put the condom on.  The man Phil had seen earlier in the bar -- middle-aged, slightly balding brown hair, blue fitted suit, and smart dress shoes. 

 

“Fast and dirty. You like it that way,” the man said. “Bend over and take what I give you.” 

 

Phil tried to ignore the slick sounds of lube, the groans and moans, the panting sighs but his own cock stirred. He managed to keep it under control until the next words from Clint’s lips. 

 

“Say it,” Clint grunted out between thrusts. “In my ear.” 

 

“Talk to me, Barton,” he said. 

 

Sitting up straight, Phil felt the lid rock beneath him; he tensed his muscles and stopped it before it made a sound. Reeling from the import of what he’d heard, Phil bit his lower lip to stay silent as they finished with a series of grunt and sharp exhalations. 

 

“Whoa.” The guy stepped back, taking his tie and starting to clean up. “That was …”

 

“Yeah.” Only someone who knew Clint well would hear the hitch in his voice. “Great. Can I buy you a night cap for the road?” 

 

“One whiskey and rye it is.” 

 

Phil waited for fifteen minutes before he left, taking the back door into the alleyway and going straight home.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

 

It took Phil two missions and three weeks on base to make up his mind what to do. Even then, the preparations took almost another month between juggling contractors and his crazy work schedule.  The waiting  that came next was the hardest part; he second guessed himself and came up with seventeen reasons this was a bad idea. But once committed, Phil stayed the course. Finally, both he and Clint were in town with a night free. 

 

“Then she told me I was stunted …” Clint waved the hand with the beer bottle as he leaned on the kitchen counter. “... and, I quote, ‘not worth a speck of my energy.’ Can you believe that? Damn good thing I didn’t sleep with her.” 

 

“Anson has been level four for six years,” Phil said in way of explanation. He slipped the last plate into the dishwasher and closed it up. “Discernment isn’t her strong suit.”

 

“True.” Clint chuckled. “But she does have other … assets.” 

 

The white cartons of leftovers went in the almost fridge right next to the almond milk and his french roast special blend. “Why does she have a bee in bonnet about you?” 

 

“Last St. Paddy’s day down at the Pub on twenty-seventh. I passed her over for a sexy court clerk with gorgeous hands.” Clint shrugged. “I think she took it personally.”

 

“The one who was in the Marines?” All the food put away, Phil tossed the empty bottles in the recycle bin. “Didn’t you see him twice?”

 

“Nah, that was the Seal, the guy with his own contractor business. Second time was a mistake; he thought we were dating and kept calling me for weeks. Didn’t understand the parameters of the operation.” Clint turned, resting on his elbows as Phil left the kitchen. “I just wasn’t into him.” 

 

Phil arched an eyebrow and said nothing. He’d heard this refrain a few times before; Clint was about to launch into his rant about why his relationships didn’t work. Just the moment Phil was waiting for. 

 

“I mean, I know I’m too damn picky, but is it too much to ask to find one person who does it for me?” Clint sighed. “What’s wrong with me any way?” 

 

This was the point where Phil usually played cheerleader, telling Clint everything would be fine. But he had a different response ready tonight. “Do you really want the answer? Because I can tell you why you’ve have no success and what the solution is.”

 

That drew Clint up short; he didn’t quite know how to respond. “What?” he asked for clarification.

 

“I can tell you why and how to solve it,” Phil repeated, carefully enunciating his words. 

 

“You can?” Clint sat his beer on the counter and stood up. “Jesus, Phil, hit me with it. I’m willing to try just about anything; I’m not getting any younger.”

 

“Okay but …” Phil trailed off for a second, looking thoughtfully at Clint. “There are caveats.”

 

“Of course there are. I would expect no less from Perfect Plan Phil.” Clint winked at him. “I promise not to get mad not matter what you say. It’s probably nothing Natasha hasn’t already tried to beat into my head.” 

 

“I doubt that.” Considering Phil had consulted Natasha for advice during each stage of this plan, he knew exactly what she’d already told Clint. “Anyway, first thing, you trust me, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Clint snorted a half-laugh. “You know I do. I told you about Barney, didn’t I?”

 

“Just stating it for the record. For this to work, I’m going to need that trust. Second, if at any point you want me to stop, feel free to say so. And if I ask how you are, I need you to be honest and give me a red or green response.” Phil had worried about this part, that it was giving too much away too early. But it needed to be said.

 

“Okay. Sounds awfully like a safe word. Is it that bad?” Clint’s face got serious. “I’m that fucked up?”

 

“No,” Phil assured him. “But the solution may be a little … unorthodox.” 

 

“Oh, hey, I live outside the box,” Clint protested. “Give me credit here. I can handle it.” 

 

“Fine.” Phil took a breath; this was the point of no return. What happened next would change everything. “Let’s take this down the hall.” 

 

Clint opened his mouth, hesitated, and then simply said, ” Okay.”

 

His office was already prepared, the top drawer of the bureau full of supplies. As they entered, he directed, “Take off your shoes and your shirt then stand in the middle of the rug.” 

 

“Is that the rug I helped you carry up the stairs?” Clint asked, looking down at the oval on the floor, a modern abstract of maroons, beige and grey. He sat on the padded bench and unlaced his boots. “Looks good in here.” 

 

“I did some rearranging to make it fit.” The chatter helped calm Phil’s nerves. As much as he wanted this, he needed to keep himself under control. 

 

“Works,” Clint said as he stepped in place, digging his toes into the dense pile of fibers. “Soft too. Nice on the feet.” 

 

Phil’s fingers shook ever so slightly as he pocketed the remote control. Just like before going in the field, he shut his eyes, breathed evenly for four counts, then opened them again. “Hold out your hands,” he told Clint. 

 

“Oooo, palm reading?” Clint stretched out his arms, palms up. “Didn’t know you believed in that kind of thing, Phil.” 

 

“I don’t. Palms down, please.”  As soon as Clint complied, Phil snapped the specially made cuffs on quickly. Clint froze, eyes scanning the silver bands, turning his hands as much as he could, feeling the soft velvet lining. 

 

“Phil?” he asked, voice low. 

 

“One word and I stop,” Phil reminded him, pushing the remote and lowering the cable and hook. “There’s a release button you can use; slide your thumb along the line of your other thumb and you can reach it.” 

 

“Escape clause.” Clint’s hawk-like eyes didn’t miss a single motion as Phil clipped the hook onto the designed space in the cuffs. A handle bar was threaded on the cable at just the right height for Clint’s hands to curl around it. “A way to hang someone from your ceiling.” Clint glanced upwards at the small box that looked like a ceiling light, disguising the whole mechanism. “Is there something you want to tell me, Phil?” 

 

“Say something  if it gets uncomfortable.” Phil reversed the cable and Clint’s arms rose about his head; he stopped when they were upright, but still able to bend, both of Clint’s feet on the floor, his weight distributed evenly. “How’s that?”

 

“I'm not going to spill any secrets this way.” Clint tested the cuffs and the handle, lifting his feet off the floor for a second. 

 

“Weight tested for up to 500 pounds,” Phil told him, a slight blush rising in his cheeks. “Enough for two people.” 

 

“Two … I had no idea you swung this way.” Clint pulled himself up, extending his legs towards the ceiling and holding himself horizontal to the floor. Phil’s mouth went dry as Clint’s biceps flexed. 

 

“That was pretty obvious, considering what I saw in the bathroom of the Sauce Bar.” He turned back and took the bottle of sandalwood oil from the warmer he’d plugged up earlier. “Getting tied up and fucked over a sink by a man you called sir.”

 

Bright red spots bloomed in Clint’s cheeks as he flipped down. “You were .. I … Jesus, Phil. You saw that?” 

 

“Jasper heard the place had good burgers. I only saw you at the bar when I went back the hallway. Didn’t want to interrupt your date.” A small amount of oil in his palm and Phil covered both hands before he walked around behind Clint. “I’m going to touch you now,” he warned before his fingers lightly grazed Clint’s bunched shoulders, smearing the oil over the skin. “Now to the question of the hour; as I see it, your biggest issue is …”

 

“Wait. You’re going to drop that bomb and then just go on with the analysis?” Clint’s gaze centered on their figures in the mirror Phil had hung on the wall. “That is so … you.” 

 

“Thank you,” Phil grinned and a bit of his own tension released; he worked his fingers down the tight tendons along Clint’s spine, working loose any knot he found. “I always envied how you can switch it off outside of work, just let go of doubt and worry and live. I have spreadsheets for Lola’s maintenance schedule and contracts for sex. That’s one of the issues, you know. Bondage, submissive, dominance … bathroom quickies are one thing, but a relationship takes negotiation and communication. I think, deep down, you know; maybe you’re not ready to admit you want that, but it seemed to me you liked it. That could be why your dates aren’t satisfying anymore.”

 

“It just ... “ Clint sighed as Phil hit a sensitive spot on his lower back. “... playing around. I’m not …” another deep sigh “... into pain with my sex.” 

 

“No, I imagine you’re like me; we get beat up enough at work.” He dribbled more oil on his palms and rubbed the heel of his hand into a tense muscle. “And that leads to my second point; everyone is pairing up or getting married. Jasper, even Melinda. That one shocked me. Feels like we’re the last ones left.” 

 

“Natasha’s dating that lawyer; that’s the last straw. Nat’s got a guy and I’m still playing fuck ‘em and leave ‘em.” Clint shook his head. “It’s just not doing it for me anymore.”

 

Phil moved around to face Clint. “So you have needs not being met and you want more than a series of one night stands. That’s enough of an explanation in itself.” His hands slipped down Clint’s chest until his fingertips rested on Clint’s belt. “But there’s still the question of those four little words.” He leaned in; Clint’s eyes grew darker until Phil lost sight of them, tilting his head so his lips just barely brushed the outer curve of Clint’s ear. “Talk to me, Barton.” 

 

A tremor shook Clint’s body; he inhaled sharply. “Fuck. I just thought I had a type.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That’s what Nat meant. I am dense; you figured it out before I did.”

 

“Hard to miss the truth when it’s right in front of me, but I wasn’t observant either; I thought you would never be interested in me so I’d written off that as a possibility a long time ago.” Phil’s fingers hooked Clint’s buckle; he watched every change in those sharp eyes, the way they darkened, the blue turning to a deep azure. “Are you willing to go on or shall we stop? The choice is yours.”  

 

“Well, you’ve more than answered my question.” Clint stepped forward, his back arching as he bumped his hips against Phil’s. “We can’t stop now. Tell me the solution. Or better yet …” he paused to lick his lips, a slow drag of the tip of his tongue “... show me.”

 

“A six month commitment.” Phil unbuckled the belt and began tugging it out of the loops. “After that, we re-evaluate. I don’t do one-offs, so that’s a deal breaker if you say no.” 

 

“Longest I’ve gone is a month.” Clint sighed as Phil’s fingers brushed along the skin, pausing at the button then pushing it through the hole. “However …” The zipper eased down, and Clint’s hips jerked as Phil glided along the rising ridge of his erection “... I think a change is in order since what I’m doing isn’t working, as you so logically pointed out.”

 

“Was that a yes?” Phil paused, Clint’s jeans hanging open. “Because I need a firm confirmation before I go forward.” 

 

“Yes.” Clint grinned, a slow sensual crawl that stoked the heat in Phil’s belly. “I agree to your condition and I have one of my own. We don’t tell anyone for those first six months. I won’t have your named dragged into the gossip mill.” 

 

“Agreed.” Sliding Clint’s jeans over his hips took only a moment, leaving only a pair of black boxer briefs. “And we’ll stay simple tonight; we need to have a long conversation about likes and dislikes …”

 

Wiggling his hips, Clint leaned in and whispered in Phil’s ear, “I’d like you to fuck me with your suit on, so I can feel the fabric against my skin.” 

 

“You are going to be a handful,” Phil murmured as he slid a hand under the elastic band and cupped Clint’s ass. 

 

“Something tells me you like that,” Clint replied, nipping at Phil’s earlobe. “Don’t you … sir?” 

 

The word punched him in the gut; his cock grew harder, his heart pounding in his chest. Catching the edge of the briefs, Phil slipped them over Clint’s hips, leaving no doubt of Clint’s interest in the proceedings. Resisting the urge to drop to his knees and get a taste of Clint, Phil stepped back and took his time, his gaze covering every inch of bare skin. He’d seen Clint naked before, brief glimpses in the locker room or on missions, passing glances in strained circumstances, but now he could look to his heart’s content. So many scars and marks, like puzzle pieces of Clint’s life; all Phil needed was a key to read every emotion. 

 

He kept to his plan; more massage oil and he began to work on Clint’s arms, down to his shoulders and over his pecs. Fingers circled Clint’s nipples, eliciting a gasp and wiggle, and then rolled the nubs, gently at first and then harder, using Clint’s moans to gage the amount of pressure. When Clint was begging, little harsh breaths instead of words. Phil let his hands drift lower, palms splayed over the muscles, feeling the curve of hip with his fingertips. He framed Clint’s cock and balls with his hands, barely brushing against the sensitive skin. 

 

Then he turned back to the desk, and Clint’s little sound of protest made him smile. From the open drawer he took out two condoms, a jar of lube, a set of rubber gloves, and a pack of hand wipes; cleaning the oil off his hands, he carried the rest over to the bench. Never taking his eyes off of Clint, he opened a packet and rolled the rubber over Clint’s cock. 

 

“I know you’re a stickler for protection,” Phil murmured as he finally sank to his knees on the soft carpet. “Good thing I am too.” With that, he licked the head, quick teasing strokes that made Clint’s thighs tremble. Phil might not be as young as some of the men Clint dated, nor as handsome, but he gave damn good head. He approached sex in the same way he did the rest of his life -- studied, researched, and made a plan. Swirling the tip of his tongue across the slit and around the head, Phil’s ministrations drew half-sobs, half-groans from deep in Clint’s throat. The deeper Phil drew him in, the more primal sounds fell from Clint’s lips. When he felt Clint’s muscles begin to tense, Phil pulled back and stood up. 

 

“Jesus,” Clint breathed. “I think you sucked my brains out. Damn, Phil, if people knew how good you were, they’d be lined up at your door.” 

 

Disposing of the condom, Phil smiled. “I don’t want a line; I’d be happy with just you.” 

 

“Oh, now you have to kiss me,” Clint said. “Sir.”

 

Phil slid his hand along Clint’s jaw, fingers burrowing into the short hair; dragging his thumb along the lower lip, Phil stared deep into Clint’s eyes. “Any time, Barton. Any time you want.” 

 

Kissing Clint Barton was like nothing Phil had experienced before. He’d known passion, felt the rush of first touch, but this was both and much more. When Clint moaned into his mouth, the vibrations rolled all the way to Phil’s toes, rebounding to his cock; he delved deeper, uncaring as oil rubbed off on his t-shirt, bringing their bodies together. He lost track of the plan, cared only for the drag of skin, the huff of breath and the ache of his cock. Clint lifted a leg, wrapping his calf around Phil and rubbing along Phil’s thigh. 

 

“Need you …” Clint groaned the words as Phil sucked on his earlobe. “Please, sir. I’ll be so good.”

 

“Oh, you will. I know.” Phil had to force himself to away from Clint’s lips; he made short work of his shirt and pants, kicking off his boxers and picking up the second packet. 

 

“Phil. You’re … packing.” Clint’s eyes were drawn to Phil’s cock hanging full along one thigh. 

 

He hesitated. “Is that a problem?” 

 

“God, no. I can’t wait to have that bad boy inside me.” Clint grinned, his lips still swollen and pink. 

Putting a glove on one hand, Phil squirted a liberal amount of lube into his palm. “You’d like that?”

 

“Every damn inch, sir.” Clint groaned as Phil slipped a finger along the valley between Clint’s ass cheeks, slicking gel over the muscle. “I want it all. Go on, I can take it.”

 

This was what Phil had wanted, Clint pliable beneath his hands, moaning his name, equals playing with passion. The tight warmth of Clint squeezing around his finger, the soft little mews of need when one became two, and the raw begging when three fingers plunged into Clint, spreading him open. 

 

“Please, sir. Phil. God, fuck me.” 

 

“Since you ask so nicely,” Phil replied, tossing the glove in garbage and picking up the condom. Positioning himself behind Clint, Phil eased the head of his cock inside, a slow progress that sent waves of pleasure up Phil’s spine as he sank deep. “How do you want it?” he whispered in Clint’s ear, wrapping an arm around Clint’s chest and draping himself over Clint’s  back. 

 

“However you want, sir,” Clint replied. 

 

He started slow, sliding almost all the way out then back in. Reaching up with his other hand, he covered Clint’s, holding onto the handle with him. Steadily increasing until he was snapping his hips harder and harder, Phil nipped on Clint’s ear then left a trail of love bites down his neck. 

 

“Perfect,” Clint gasped out between harsh breaths. “So fucking good.”

 

Sweat beaded at the nape of Phil’s neck, rolling down his back. “Taking every bit of me,” Phil said. “Next time, I’m going to tie you to the bed, make you take my cock in your throat.” 

 

“Yes. ‘Til I choke with it.” Clint tilted his head and bared his neck. 

 

“Then I’m going to straddle your hips and ride you so hard you’ll never forget it.” Phil was pistoning in and out, completely caught up in the feel of Clint squeezing around him.

 

“Yes, just like that. Almost there, just a little to the …” Clint pulled himself up with his arms and tucked his feet around Phil’s knees. On the next thrust, Clint called his name. “Phil! That’s it. God, yes.” 

 

Phil slid his hand down Clint’s chest and wrapped around his cock; after only three strokes, Clint bowed his back and came with a garbled cry.  The clench of muscle did Phil in and he followed, holding Clint tight until the last tremor ran through him. 

 

“Jesus Christ, Phil.” Clint slowly dropped his feet back to the carpet; Phil slipped out but kept his hold on Clint. “That was freakin’ amazing. And nice pattern choice on the rug.” 

 

A chuckle rumbled in Phil’s chest. “Now you know why I looked so long for the right one.” 

 

With his thumb, Phil unlocked the cuffs and freed Clint’s arms; Clint rolled his shoulders as Phil helped him over to the bench. Taking a towel from the table, Phil covered the fabric and Clint sprawled out on the seat, one leg falling off the back and his knees wide open. “Have to say, I’m not sure what to do next. Usually, I’m zipping up and getting the heck out of dodge right about now.” 

 

“We do what we normally do. Find something to watch, grab a beer, sit on the couch, and argue about last night’s game,” Phil said as he cleaned up. “Then we go to bed and we try out the new headboard I had bolted to the wall.” 

 

“Can we cuddle?.” Clint hooked his briefs with one toe and put them on. “I never get to cuddle.” 

 

“I warn you, if you hog the covers, no pancakes for breakfast,” Phil told him with a smile. 

 

“Nah, I’m always kicking mine off,” Clint said. “I’m too hot … hot damn.” 

 

“Don’t start. I get enough of that at work.” Phil didn’t bother with his briefs, just stepped into his jeans. 

 

“Should have thought of that before you ruined me for others.” Clint offered his hand and Phil pulled him up. “Strangely enough, I’m hungry again.”

 

“The Singapore rice noodles are mine,” Phil called at Clint’s retreating form.

 

EIGHT YEARS LATER 

 

Clint opened the door to the farmhouse, glancing around the living room. “Honey, we’re home!”

 

Phil came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a red checkered towel. “You made good time,” he said. He kissed Clint on his cheek before he turned to Natasha. “You okay?” 

 

“Been better,” she admitted, going easily into his arms for a hug. 

 

“Whatever she showed you, it’s an illusion. That’s what she does,” Phil told her. 

 

“Agent Coulson?” Steve asked, his eyes wide with surprise. 

 

“Son of Coul! You live!” Thor threw his arms around both Phil and Natasha and hugged them. “This makes me happy.” 

 

“Wait, wait, wait. Agent’s alive, sure, but Is no one going to ask why Clint’s calling Agent Agent honey and getting a kiss?” Tony asked. 

 

“Because Phil’s my husband; we’ve been married for four years,” Clint slipped his arm around Phil’s waist. “We had to keep his status secret after New York because Fury suspected the WC was up to something and what better way to go unnoticed than to be dead?”

 

“HYDRA? You were investigating them.” Steve looked at Phil. 

 

“I was tracking an agent named Garrett who was one of Pierce’s high ranking operatives inside SHIELD,” Phil told him. “Look, I’ll make a pot of coffee; why don’t change out of your uniforms and we can talk before the kids get home from school?” 

 

“Kids? Mini-agents?” Tony rolled his eyes. “Legolas has got a lot of explaining to do.”

 

“Later, Tony,” Clint promised. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  
  
  



End file.
